Never Let Go
by Akatsuki no Menba
Summary: 1912 - Alfred boards the Titanic with his brother, Matthew, to return to America, and on the ship meets a high-class Brit by the name of Arthur - who is unhappily taken by a Frenchman. USUK retelling of the Titanic love story.


**Southampton, England — April 10, 1912 — 11:45 A.M.**

Alfred Jones growled in frustration.

No matter how many times he raked a hand though his hair to get the irritating strands out of his eyes, they came back with a vengeance, this time dripping sweat directly into his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and stop the burning, and almost missed the tightly curled fist as it came at him. When Alfred made a move to dodge, his world blurred. For a moment, he was stunned, confused — had he been hit?

Something clattered to the ground and Alfred realized that, no, he had only lost his glasses. Alfred had no time to retrieve them, though, with more punches coming at his rapidly. The best he could do was lead his attacker away and hope Matthew would get his glasses before they were stepped on. He couldn't imagine having to stand by almost blindly as his brother sailed away... _If_ he did.

_Be the hero, _Alfred told himself, _for Mattie._

Alfred flung himself at his attacker with a battle cry that was strangled with laughter. Even though this guy had royally pissed him off, even though his eyes were stinging with salty sweat, _even though _his vision was blurred from lack of glasses, he was having the time of his life. He was going to be Matthew's hero, he was going to get back his brother's ticket, and he was going to watch as the _Titanic _sailed away with his brother on board.

"Alfred... Alfred!"

It took a moment for Matthew's voice to register. Alfred had been consumed by his thoughts of triumphing, of being the hero. When he was finally brought from his reverie by Matthew's hand on his arm, the guy he'd been beating on laid in a crumpled, unconscious mess at his feet.

"Are you okay?" Matthew asked anxiously.

Alfred blinked, unsure. His knuckles were bloody, but no pain seemed to register. "Huh." It had been a long time since Alfred had done this much damage to anyone, so the initial shock overwhelmed him a bit. However, Matthew continued softly prodding at his arm, and, as though time suddenly started again for Alfred, he flashed his brother a wide smile and wiped his sleeve across his forehead.

"Calm down, Mattie." Alfred reached up and ruffled Matthew's hair. "I got your ticket."

"I'm worried about _you _— "

Alfred ignored him; Matthew should know that he was fine. He was the hero. And, besides, he'd won the fight. The guy on the ground was definitely in a worse condition than him, too: unconscious still, with a busted bottom lip and blood dribbling down his chin. His trench coat was wrinkled from the struggle, but Alfred could unbutton it now without getting punched in the face.

Inside the hidden pockets were an array of expensive treasures — pocket watches, flashy rings and necklaces, gold coins. Alfred's eyes grazed right over the baubles — they were merely a messy blur in his vision anyway. "Where is it...?" he wondered aloud, patting down the coat for the single most important paper Alfred had ever laid eyes on.

There was no sign of it anywhere, and Alfred was beginning to panic. The tick of a clock's minute hand sounded in his mind, reminding Alfred that the ship was set to sail and noon. The pressure brought on a whole new sheen of sweat, and he hastily wiped his sleeve across his forehead again.

He could feel the moisture returning almost immediately, and the skin on the back of his neck prickled.

As a last resort, Alfred reached for the pockets of the man's trousers. Maybe he kept something so important in his wallet, somewhere close, or —

Alfred's breath hitched as his fingers hooked around something and he produced from the pocket a fat, brown leather wallet. He practically tore into it, bills in the form of English pounds floating to the ground, followed by shillings and pence clattering loudly after them. He emptied it of everything that would immediately fall out, then raided the hidden pockets, careful that he didn't rip anything within them.

With the dirty street floor littered with everything from the wallet, Alfred tossed it aside and shifted though everything. _I ought to take all of this asshole's money. That'll teach him to steal,_ Alfred thought, but knew he probably wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it. He was the hero, not the villain.

The bills, he brushed aside as nothing, and the coins were even more useless to him. There were a couple of folded up papers in the stack that he'd found within the pockets of the wallet. He unraveled each of them carefully, and began to worry more when the first two turned out to be nothing but letters discussing business.

There was a some thick folded pieces of paper, pure white, under the mess of bills. It had been something that had fallen out first, meaning that it probably wasn't important enough to hide, and, judging from the thickness, it was probably just more letters. With low hopes, Alfred unfolded it. There were only two pieces of paper, Alfred found. One fell away from the other, drifting back to the ground. The other stayed in Alfred's hands, and he stared at it was an almost disbelieving look.

"'White Star Line. Boarding Pass. R.M.S. _Titanic_,'" he read. "Holy shit."

"You found it?" Matthew asked, and even his excited tone was low-pitched. He dropped down on his knees next to Alfred, returning his brother's glasses and clutching his stuffed polar bear closer.

Alfred hastily put his glasses back on, almost certain his poor vision was playing tricks on him—

But, no, there it was: white paper with the White Star Line logo printed at the top. In large, red letters, it read 'Boarding Pass' and below that, in black print, '_Titanic_' just as he had read. "Haha — " He laughed breathlessly and passed the ticket to Matthew. "Yeah, dude. And she sets off at noon. Better get going."

The grand ship was close. In fact, Alfred could smell the smoke emitting from the huge smokestacks, four very obvious physical traits of the _Titanic_. Regardless, Matthew wasn't a fast runner, and the minute hand was ticking closer and closer to the large twelve

"I know, I know..." Matthew hesitated, then threw his arms around his brother's neck. "Thank you so much, Alfred." Even with each arm around Alfred's neck, Matthew continued to clutch desperately to his ticket. The other held on to his stuffed bear's paw, though it wasn't _nearly_ as important. Matthew knew good and well what could have happened to Alfred, had he lost that fight, despite the fact that he was only getting back what belonged to him.

It was unreal how greedy and plain _evil_ some people could be. Matthew thought himself innocent enough that people would continue to consider him a child and leave him alone. In America, it had been like that, and it was nice. He was seen — sometimes — but never heard or bothered, and spent most of his time hiding behind Alfred's arm. Then, in England, especially in the big cities, it seemed like someone was always trying to pick his pocket. Alfred scared most people off, but he'd been busy making sure the meager amount of Matthew's luggage was ready to be loaded when the asshole now laying unconscious on the ground stole his ticket and took off.

After being alerted by Matthew, Alfred went bounding after him without hesitation. Matthew had followed, eyes wide, clutching Kumajiro, his bear, to his chest.

And that was how they ended up where they were. Alfred could have beaten the guy to an inch of his death for what he did. But now it was over. Matthew had his ticket, and he knew he should be going — _immediately._

"Dammit, Mattie, if you miss that boat..." Alfred's voice was muffled against Matthew's shoulder. He didn't seem to be able to hug his brother tight enough, but it was nearing noon so rapidly... With a sigh, he leaned back, releasing Matthew. "Go on. I'll get to America soon enough, I promise. Then I'll come find you, wherever you are, even if it's in Canada. Underst—"

"Alfred!" Matthew interrupted, dropping onto his knees on the dirty street. Alfred opened his mouth to tell him to get back up, but he interrupted him once again, waving something in front of his face. "Look! Look, it's—"

Alfred took the piece of paper before Matthew could give him a paper cut on his nose and examined it. It felt familiar and was folded like Matthew's boarding pass had been. When he turned it over to read what it said, Alfred's breathing stuttered. "It's—"

"He must have had his own and was stealing one for a friend, or — or money... But that doesn't matter. Alfred, you have to come with me!"

Alfred's eyes flitted between the piece of paper in his own hand to the one in Matthew's. He couldn't believe it... there was no way... But there it was in front of his eyes. Matthew's stolen ticket and another ticket straight out of the guy's wallet. This piece of paper was worth more than all of the bills and coins on the ground. Alfred had already told himself that he wasn't going to take any of the money, so how could he possibly take the ticket as his own—?

Matthew could practically see the gears turning in Alfred's head as he struggled to make a decision. He chewed his bottom lip, gazing at his brother hopefully. As wrong as it was, Alfred had only ever looked after the two of them. He had raised enough money to get Matthew a ticket on a luxurious boat to America because he knew how happy that would make him. Everything Alfred had ever done, as far as Matthew could remember, had been for him. And he _needed_ his brother to accompany him to America.

"Screw morals." Alfred stood, yanking Matthew up with him, and put on his signature grin. "Mattie, I'm going to America with you." Before pushing Matthew out of the alleyway, Alfred picked a bill from the ground and placed it on the unconscious man's chest. "Thanks, dude."

"Isn't that _his_ money?" Matthew asked, stumbling along.

Alfred, in response, just laughed.

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit, shit."

Alfred seemed to be chanting curse words as he sprinted toward the _Titanic,_ pulling Matthew along by his hand. The now emptied luggage carts and people waving to those already aboard and perched on the deck were obstacles that seemed to be put in their way for the sole purpose of making them late.

Matthew was struggling to keep up. His legs weren't as long as Alfred's, so he had to match each of his brother's steps with two of his own. Alfred shouted encouragements to keep Matthew going, and he would, in turn, occasionally squeeze Alfred's hand to assure him that he was still keeping up. He was too breathless from panting to shout back and tell him so.

"There it is. _There it is_! Matthew!" Alfred's pace doubled, and Matthew cried out in protest, but he saw clearly what Alfred's rush was. The loading dock to the entrance was being lowered, and the uniformed men who had been ushering in ticket holders were stepping into the boat—

Alfred's feet hit the dock and he bounded up it, waving his ticket and shouting breathlessly. "W— Wait! My brother and I — we have our tickets." The men narrowed their eyes at Alfred, then at Matthew, who was struggling to not keel over from exhaustion. "The line for that damn inspection... Too many people _with_ lice. Not us, though. Here." Alfred shoved his ticket into one of the men's gloved hand.

There was a pause in which Alfred's heart was slamming in his chest because he was afraid he would be caught in the act of trying to board with a ticket that was not his own. The seconds ticked by like hours, and after about seven of them, Alfred was ushered through. He sighed in relief, jumped the distance between the dock and the boat, and helped Matthew do the same after his ticket was, too, inspected.

Alfred's excitement could hardly be contained as he navigated his way to the deck. "Come on, this'll be _Titanic_ tradition or something one day," Alfred explained to an extremely weary Matthew. No doubt his brother just wanted to find their rooms and rest. _In due time, Mattie,_ Alfred thought. _We're only going to get this chance once._

The deck was crowded, naturally. Alfred could not even begin to roughly estimate the number of passengers the ship was holding, but it sure was a hell of a lot. Ignoring groans and insults, Alfred pushed his way to the edge of the deck, bringing Matthew along. He stood up tall and waved to everyone below. "See you, you limey bastards! We're going to America!"

"Alfred!" Matthew scolded by his side.

* * *

**R.M.S. **_**Titanic**_** — April 10, 1912 — 1:00 P.M.**

Arthur Kirkland looked around the room, displeased. It was far too bland for a Kirkland's expensive taste, thought he walls were painted in royal hues of green, matching the plush furniture. The wallpaper's designs spun and curved intricately across the length of each wall, never taking the same curve at the corners. Regardless, it needed some proper decoration.

Arthur sighed, irritated, and indicated to the crew members that were carrying his belongings where to place everything. A trunk full of books came moments after his bookcase, and as the shelves were being slid into place, Arthur opened the trunk and shifted thought the leather-bound volumes, making sure that they were all accounted for. Most were poetry books — Poe, Frost, Dickenson. Top shelf choices, certainly.

"Settling in well, Arthur, dear?"

Long, slim fingers brushed Arthur's sides from behind. He jumped, startled, and spun to meet the eyes of his visitor, though he could recognize that smooth voice anywhere.

"Quite," Arthur replied, brushing Francis' hands away as they grabbed for him. "And I do not need any of your help."

"Come now, is that any way to act?" Francis tsked and forcefully grabbed Arthur, pulling him close.

"Francis! You git, we are not alone here!" Arthur whispered furiously, but the rest of his protests were lost against Francis' mouth.

Francis was holding him close, kissing him fully. Arthur could feel the full length of his body pressed against his own, could feel the long strands of the other's wavy blonde hair brushing against his cheeks. Naturally, Francis did not mind assaulting Arthur's mouth with his tongue in the presence of others. In fact, the knowledge that he had a potential audience seemed to cheer him on, despite how _utterly improper_ this was.

Arthur made a slight noise against his mouth. His face was flushed darkly, he knew it. He could feel it. And he could not _believe_ Francis was doing this. "Stop—" was all Arthur could manage. It came out as a strangled gasp, and he pushed on Francis' chest and shoulders. "Get _off_ of me, Francis," Arthur demanded, breaking the kiss himself and leaning back for air.

Though Arthur's face was burning in anger and embarrassment, Francis looked fairly pleased with himself. "_Je t'a_—"

"Don't," Arthur warned with a steely gave. "Don't say it. Just leave me alone." Freeing himself from the arms around his waist, Arthur turned back to his books, trying to seem busy until Francis left.

"_Mon amour, _what has been the matter with you lately?"

The distress in Francis' voice brought Arthur's eyes back to him immediately. He sighed, and it sounded like a noise of defeat. "I... suppose it is just stress, Francis. Forgive me." Arthur reached out, brushing his fingers against the other man's face and feeling the prickly stubble along his cheeks and chin. "I am just a bit nervous. They say this ship is unsinkable, yet it is practically a city on water." Arthur dropped his hand back to his own side. "But never mind that. I will get over it. Run along, Francis. Surely there are other things you need to see to. And you ought to shave before dinner."

They shared a brief kiss, then Francis turned to leave Arthur to seeing that his things were unpacked and the room decorated to his liking. Not once could Arthur bring himself to look up to see if he and Francis had been spied on.

**A/N: Well. I am very, very excited to be posting the first chapter of this, and I hope many people like it! :3 _Titanic_'s love story is one of my absolute favorites, and I finally decided on a Hetalia pairing that I thought would fit it. I just wish Cal had never been in the picture for Rose — he is the reason I have to make myself physically ill writing those short FrUK scenes. x_x  
Anyway, PLEASE favorite, leave comments and feedback, and I'll have the second chapter ready in no time. ;D**  
**Also, some quick notes for anyone who might be confused... This is the list of characters so far and who they are taking the place of.  
Alfred Jones: Jack Dawson**  
**Arthur Kirkland: Rose DeWitt Bukater (although Arthur is still male)**  
**Matthew Williams: Fabrizio (although he is Alfred's blood brother)**  
**Francis Bonnefoy: Caledon 'Cal' Hockley**


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